


Temptation and Desperation

by sakamoon (Sakamoon)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Cannibalism, Claustrophobia, Community: rotg_kink, Food Poisoning, Gen, Intervention, Jack maybe has issues, and my theme song for this is Rehab by Amy Winehouse, kind of, quick note that the movie happens exactly as it does in canon, until the antarctica scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakamoon/pseuds/sakamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He walks along telephone wires high above the world, clawed feet balancing perfectly, effortlessly, as he carelessly freezes the lines before him. He is adolescent, frozen just on the cusp of manhood yet lacks any clumsiness many associate with that age. In fact, he walks with a cat’s grace and a wolf’s surety, one slender hand loosely grasping a wooden shepherd’s crook while the other rests loosely in his well-worn hoodie’s single pocket.</p><p>The Spirit is content, having fed for the first time in weeks. His stomach still complains of hunger, as it always has and always will, but the edge is taken off and what’s left is minor enough that he can bury the pain away with ease of practice. The ache will slowly worsen until he can know longer ignore it.</p><p>But for tonight he is sated and he plans on enjoying the carefree feeling for as long as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And his name is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for this prompt, even though it's already been wonderfully filled by someone else. I just...really wanted to try writing something for this:
> 
> http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=5793109#cmt5793109
> 
> I ended up deviating from the prompt slightly as the plot took my brain hostage and went a little wild.
> 
> also, yeah, pay attention to some of those tags.

He walks along telephone wires high above the world, clawed feet balancing perfectly, effortlessly, as he carelessly freezes the lines before him. He is adolescent, frozen just on the cusp of manhood yet lacks any clumsiness many associate with that age. In fact, he walks with a cat’s grace and a wolf’s surety, one slender hand loosely grasping a wooden shepherd’s crook while the other rests loosely in his well-worn hoodie’s single pocket. Silken white hair that brushes the small of his back when settled flows freely in the ever present breeze surrounding the boy and ice-blue eyes take in the city. Thin lips set in an absent smile cover dagger-like pointed teeth and his button nose twitches slightly as it picks up the subtle scents flowing through the air, long pointed ears listening to the sounds on the wind.

The Spirit is content, having fed for the first time in weeks. His stomach still complains of hunger, as it always has and always will, but the edge is taken off and what’s left is minor enough that he can bury the pain away with ease of practice. The ache will slowly worsen until he can know longer ignore it.

But for tonight he is sated and he plans on enjoying the carefree feeling for as long as he can.

Golden waves of sand illuminate the sky, and the spirit takes a minute to let his eyes adjust, pupils shrinking to little more than slits as he takes in the glowing sight. This is new. His eyes. He knows they must look vaguely feline only because his prey earlier today had been grimalkin. A twin-tailed cat-demon to be exact, but he was never one for details. All he’d known as he’d chased it was that it tricked children into the night, never to be seen again, and it was powerful enough to set his belly growling. 

It’s dead now, little more than bones in a cave somewhere in Japan, and even some of its bones show signs of gnawing. He supposes he should be embarrassed about that. Bad manners, chewing on someone’s bones, but he’d been so _hungry_.

Regardless, the demon is dead now. It won’t steal away any more children, and he has, apparently, taken its sight. Things like this no longer shock him; he always takes at least one attribute from his food. He’d not always been this old, or tall, or well-coordinated. His hair was once short, his teeth flat, his ears rounded. He’d once been a boy no different than the unaware humans around him but for the staff in his hand and his own immunity to cold. These changes had scared him at first, but every change, every slight alteration, was designed to make him a better hunter. He is a predator first and foremost, and every kill, every meal, every consumption of someone’s magical core, only serves to enhance that. Now, he has eyes capable of seeing as clearly in the dark of night as in the light of day, that can see far into the distance and pick up even the smallest movement. He has had to sacrifice his ability to see some more vibrant colors, but when one lives in a world of white, as a winter Spirit like he does, it is not such a loss. 

Something changes in the air. A Spirit is wandering the streets of _his_ town. 

With a low growl, he hops off the wires and follows his senses toward the intruder. Intruders. His nose picks up several scents. Three, specifically. They’re familiar,  their identities just on the tip of his tongue, but the scent’s not yet strong enough to clue him in. The intruders are fast; they’ve only been here minutes, yet their scents already circle and weave throughout the town, leading him in pointless circles. 

Eventually, the teen stops, his carefree smile twisting to something mischievous and possibly malevolent. The invaders wish to play this game? Fine. He pulls his left hand from his pocket, holding it up in a silent command. Immediately, the breeze throughout the town stills; he closes his eyes and _listens_.

Crickets chirp, unperturbed by the chill of the early spring air. To his left, a pair of cats chase each other through alleyways. In the distance, someone’s car alarm is ringing, waking the neighborhood. A man and his dog are taking a late-night stroll. A sleeping homeless man a couple blocks over shifts restlessly, rustling his newspaper blanket. Bugs hum, rodents squeak. He scowls. Whoever is here is good at hiding his tracks.  

The spirit resigns, opening his eyes again, only to spot a figure ducking into an alley in the distance. He grins again, pleasantly shocked. He’d already forgotten about his shiny, new, practical eyes. Wasting no time, he springs off after the figure. With a direction established, he quickly gains proximity, and the scent becomes clearer, and he finally realizes who is invading his city.

This newfound knowledge gives him pause. The Easter Bunny is in his home. Why? He can’t think of any business the rabbit would have here at this time. Easter isn’t for three days and they haven’t so much as seen each other once since 1768 when he’d created a fantastic blizzard during the rabbit’s holiday. And furthermore, why is lagomorph with two Yeti from the Workshop on top of the world? 

He purses his lips. This screams trap,  but he can’t figure out what the prank might be. Well, he’d have to simply outwit them, then, wouldn’t he? The rabbit must be expecting him to give chase, and now that the thought has occurred, it seems obvious. But he has lived here since before the city was named Burgess. He knows every street and secret this town holds, and that gives him a clear-cut advantage. The way the Easter spirit is leading him...it leads to a narrow alley. Once lured in, it would be easy to surround him and...do whatever they’re planning to do.

Instead of following behind the rabbit, as is expected, he leaps to the roof of a nearby building, crouching low so the light of the moon doesn’t give him away, and circling until the intruders are upwind. Then its simply a matter of roof hopping until he’s looking over the edge of one of the buildings forming the alley at the shadowed Easter spirit below him.

The rabbit is leaning against the wall, preoccupied with an object in his paws—a boomerang it seems. Occasionally, he’ll glance toward the alley before grumbling and turning his attention back to his weapon. 

After a minute, the rabbit pushes himself off the wall and calls out, “Why isn’t ‘e comin’? Don’ tell me the larriken lost my trail again. Maybe I should make it more obvious?” A flair of indigence sweeps over him at the rabbit’s words—of course he wouldn’t lose such an obvious trail—but he quickly pushes it down. The last time they met, he’d only been about a half a century old and didn’t have any of the enhanced senses he has now, “Hey Bill, Ted, did either o’ ya see ‘im pass by?”

Two yetis step out of the shadows (and look, he was right, they were going to trap him in the alley) saying some gibberish in a tone indicating that no, they have not seen him.

The rabbit huffs, “Alright, I’m gonna find where the drongo’s gotten himself lost,” With that, the lagomorph puts his nose to the air, his ears twitching every which way. His brows furrow in confusion, and the winter spirit takes that has his cue to come out of hiding.

With a short shout, he leaps off the roof, falling straight toward the oversized rabbit. One of the yetis screams a frantic warning, and Bunny opens his eyes in time to yell, “Blimey!”

Just before the adolescent latches onto the Easter spirit, the rabbit disappears down a hole that closes up after him. The winter sprite is left crouching on the ground, staring confusedly at a single tulip sprouting through the cement. He only has a moment to wonder at it before he’s leaping into the air to avoid a boomerang. 

The second he lands, he launches a series of ice missiles at the boomerang’s owner, but the lagomorph knocks them away, his bracers protecting him from harm. The spring Spirit launches himself forward into a drop kick that he manages to block with his staff before countering with a kick of his own, clawed toes nicking the rabbit’s skin. 

With a hiss, the rabbit backs off, and for a moment the winter sprite feels triumphant, until he sees the smirk on the lagomorph’s face. Realization dawns and he ducks just in time for the boomerang to go flying over his head into the rabbits hand, and before he can regain his balance, the Easter spirit is upon him, knocking him down to the ground and holding him there with a forearm to his chest.

Despite losing the battle, he feels a moment of exultation. So Strong! He can practically smell the magic rolling off the spirit in waves. How would it feel to consume such a spirit? His stomach clenches in anticipation at the thought, and for a moment, the winter sprite is tempted. The rabbit is so close. He could lift his head and take a bite right out of his shoulder, and from there it’s just a matter of waiting for the paralysis from the poison stored in his fangs to kick in. It would be so simple, and his stomach feels empty and the magic surrounding him is almost enough to drive him over the edge and do it, but—

But he just ate today, so the worst of the hunger is absent and he will not give in so easily to base desires. The rabbit, for all that he is gruff, does no harm to children, and it is against his code to eat perfectly healthy, benevolent spirits.

And yet—that magic!

“Who are ya, and where do ya get off attacking me for no reason?” the rabbit asks, inadvertently interrupting the younger spirit’s inner debate.

Feigning a pout, the boy retorts, “Actually, the real question is: where do you get off, trying to lure me into a trap in my own home?”

“Your home? But—you…” Realization dawns on Bunny’s face as he exclaims skeptically, “Frost? _Jack Frost_?” 

Jack smiles, pointed teeth gleaming in the lamplight, “That’s my name, Bunny, don’t wear it out,” 

 

* * *

 

The boy crouches in the rafters, half hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering flames of North’s fireplace. His hair, white but for one streak of black running asymmetrically down the left side of his head, is tied into a loose ponytail and hangs over his shoulder as the boy observes the gathering below him. North is exuberantly telling the tale of his bandit days to a less-than-sober Toothiana. Sanderson is currently discussing the pros of a work union to a yeti and subtly encouraging the great beast to discuss the possibilities of paid vacations to his boss.

Bunny stands apart from the group, staring up at the child in the rafters.

It’s been months since the day Bunny set out to bring Jack to the workshop to induct him into guardianship, and the Easter Spirit still finds himself unnerved by the boy for several reasons, not the least of which is because of the differences in Frostbite’s appearance.

Though the memory verges on two hundred fifty years old, Bunny can remember at least the basics of what the boy looked like back during the blizzard of ’68. Jack is older than Bunny remembers, and considerably more animalistic. His hair certainly wasn’t that long back then, and the child then held none of the predatory grace Bunny sees now.

It’s true that some spirits, such as North, age, albeit quite slowly, and others are altered according to their myths, as Tooth has been. As a shapeshifter himself, Bunny feels he really shouldn’t judge on appearances, but Bunny can’t help it. The boy’s change is unnatural. In all of Bunny’s research since the newest member joined the Guardians, he’s never found a reason the boy should have changed so drastically. No recent Jack Frost legend indicates a creature remotely like the one currently in the rafters. It’s true that part of the change is simply the boy’s advancing age, but people don’t just grow into claws and fangs and enhanced senses. The boy doesn’t have the smell that comes with messing with black magicks or dealings with demons. 

Even now, though its subtle, the boy is changing. The boy’s ears are slightly more elongated, the tips curved just the slightest bit. He’s paler now, but perhaps it simply seems that way because the tips of the boy’s fingers and toes have obtained a slightly grey hue that offsets his pale pallor more than their previous blue tint. The most obvious change is the streak of black running through the boy’s hair. None of the other Guardians seem to think it’s a big deal, but Bunny _knows_ that wasn’t there when he sought out Jack in Burgess, and it isn’t like the kid could have gotten it dyed at a hair salon.

And it only serves to worry Bunny more that these changes occurred only after Pitch Black went missing. It’s the strangest thing. Pitch had been winning. Sandy had been killed (or so they thought at the time), Tooth’s fairies were all caught, and Easter had just been trashed. Pitch was on the verge of victory when he just...vanished.

Next thing everyone knew, Jack—whom they drove away in a fit of despair after Easter—was in Burgess with a gaggle of kids. Sandy was fine, though he had no idea how he’d been converted from his nightmare-sand state to his regular one, and without the influence of Pitch Black, children everywhere had started to believe in the Guardians again.

No one has seen hide nor tail of Pitch since.

When asked about it, North’d said not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, though Bunny can’t help but wonder if something worse than Pitch lurks in the maw of this particular gift, something that they should be preparing for now so they aren’t taken by surprise later.

Bunny feels a chill in his spine and glances up at the cause to see Jack’s feline-like eyes staring fixedly at him almost as if Jack is a starving jackal and Bunny is the most delectable steak-cut he’d ever seen.

Jack shakes his head and retreats further into the shadows of the rafters until only his eyes, nearly glowing in the darkness, can be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, for anyone who might be interested in this story, I want you to know now that I am currently stuck between choosing two very different endings, and I can't decide which one I like more. So, if you'd like, leave a comment explaining what kind of ending you like, and I can use the knowledge to pick out the right ending.
> 
> Also, I also look forward to advice and critiques, so if you see something I could improve upon, don't be afraid to point it out. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~One day I'll think of a good title. Today is not that day.~~


	2. The Gift of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t until he spots the large golden cloud that Jack realizes why the scent had seemed so familiar, and he can’t stop the wave of disappointment at the thought that he isn’t allowed eat the little golden man atop it. For a brief moment, Jack entertains the idea of going for it anyway. The Sandman is alone after all, and there’s no way anyone can prove that Jack did anything…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next take place during the time skip in between Jack and Bunny's pov in the prologue. Just wanted to make that clear.

Jack knows that these days he is welcome in at any time, but that doesn’t stop him from sneaking into Santa’s Workshop and creeping along the rafters until he reaches his destination. In the month and a half since becoming a Guardian, Jack still hasn’t managed to explore the entire workshop, but he finds the large, ornate door leading to North’s personal office easily enough. Slowly, Jack pushes the door open with one foot and swings through the slim opening onto the rafters inside the room. As expected, North his hunched over his work table, carving away at some new prototype ice creation.

Smiling, Jack silently hops down, sneaking up behind North and asking, “Watcha building?”

The big man jumps and cusses under his breath at the sound of ice cracking before he turns and chides, “Jack, is not good to always be sneaking up, yeah?”

Jack pauses, shocked by the statement. After all, stealth is what has kept him alive all these years, and that can’t be _bad_. After a bit, he turns to observe the varied assortment on the shelves, shrugging unapologetically and replying, “Maybe not, but the reactions never get old,”

North folds his arms and tries to give Jack a stern glare, but the expression quickly collapses into a short but boisterous laugh as he says, “Yes, is very true. So tell me Jack Frost, what is your reason for visiting so close to Christmas?”

Jack pauses his examination of the toys to twist around and give North a confused stare, “Christmas? You know it’s only June, right?”

“Yes, only six months left until holiday! Is crunchy time,” Jack holds a finger up, intending to correct North’s words, but never get a chance as the Christmas Spirit plows on, speaking with his hands as much as his exuberant voice, “This Christmas will be biggest yet! There will be no forgotten child. I will light up the sky and decorate every home with wonderful tree. Children will _believe_ again,”

Half amused and half confused, Jack cuts in, “Uh, don’t children already believe in you? Lights on the globe and all,”

“Yes but not as many as before, and not as strong, but more importantly—they do not believe in you,”

Jack winces at the reminder, studying the ground as he replies, “Yep. Thanks for letting me know,”

He ignores North until the older Spirit places on hand on each of his shoulders, “Raise your chin up, boy. It will not be so for long. By time Christmas is over, children everywhere will be looking for Jack Frost,”

Jack takes a breathe to retort, only to stutter out a, “What?” as he stares at North while the proclamation sinks in. The other Spirit has a happy twinkle in his eye and elects not to say anything while Jack processes the information. Eventually, he gathers himself together enough to ask, “Me? But—but why? How?”

“How? I will tell you how!” North claps him on the shoulder before walking over to his desk and picking the ice figurine he’d been working on. For the first time since he entered the room, Jack actually looks at it and is surprised to see a miniature replica of himself, albeit cracked from when he’d startled North, “When children wake up on Christmas Day and see Jack Frost toy, of course they will believe,” North pauses before adding, “Sandy, Tooth, and Bunny are helping too. Crafting best dreams, searching out funnest memories of snow days, painting pictures, but it is toys that will convince kids,” North nods as if it’s a given and then leans in to whisper, “Was supposed to be big Christmas surprise, but we won’t tell them you know, right?”

Jack nods absently, leaning on his staff for support as he takes all this in. It never occurred to him before to ask for more believers than the seven he miraculously got after that Easter fiasco. Now North is telling him that he won’t just have more, but millions more? The idea is amazing and scary and unbelievable and the only thing running through Jack’s mind is, “Why do all this for someone like me?”

“Someone like—” North scoffs, “What is going through your mind? You believed in us—made Last Light believe in us—even though we did not believe in you. You are Guardian, Jack, and more importantly you are a friend,” Setting the ice figurine down, North’s expression and voice softens as he concludes, “This is least we can do for ‘someone like you,’ ”

For a moment, all Jack can do is stare, wide-eyed at North, wondering at being thought of as a friend. He never really had friends before. It’d always been too much trouble because—

At the reminder, Jack’s stomach growls, and he grimaces, taking a step back from the other Guardian.

Oblivious of Jack’s consternation, North laughs, “Ah ha! Boy is hungry! Come come, let us eat,”

Startled, Jack objects, “But don’t you have work? I thought it was crunch time?”

North gives him a pat on the back that makes Jack stumble toward the door and then begins to guide him out of the room, “Nonsense, there is always time for lunch with friend,”

He said the word again.

Jack glances back just in time to see his miniature figurine, half finished and cracked, before the door shuts and they’re heading off toward the kitchens.

* * *

 

Chest heaving, Jack pushes himself away from the back-alley dumpster he’d been leaning over and slumps back against the wall. Sliding to the ground, Jack takes in the cloudy sky as he calms his breathing.

When North had said lunch, he’d figured it would be some small affair. Jack should have known better. North had brought out a full three course dinner with a veritable buffet of desserts, and caught up in the mood, Jack had went with it. He is paying for it now. He’s never been able to stomach regular food, and he ate so much today. It didn’t even take the edge off.

Jack hasn’t eaten in a month and a half, which is half a month longer than he can usually go. He needs to find a meal quickly. He wonders idly if there’s another big catch out there, like Pitch had been. Thinking realistically, it’s not likely. He’s never seen one before. Pitch had filled him practically to bursting, and for the first time Jack had actually felt full. It was an incredible experience.

Excited by the thoughts of their previous master, the shadows around Jack start whispering and chittering inside his head. It’s all nonsensical white-noise, but it helps Jack focus on the present and allows him to notice the magic that now pervades the air. 

Encouraged by the prospect of a real dinner close by, Jack gets up and slips out of the alley back into the ever lively streets of the city. Quickly flying above the heads of the late-night pedestrians, Jack tries to block out the ambient noise and smoggy air to find his target.

The scent is familiar, but Jack can’t be bothered with that. Not when a meal is so conveniently close by, and especially not when it is so strong. The magic pervades the air, cloaking its master, but not so much that Jack can’t trace it to its source. The trail leads up, high into the sky.

Grinning, Jack crouches slightly before shooting upwards. Wind whips past him, whistling in his ear as he rises above skyscrapers until he pulls himself to a stop and turns a quick circle to determine the location of his target.

It isn’t until he spots the large golden cloud that Jack realizes why the scent had seemed so familiar, and he can’t stop the wave of disappointment at the thought that he isn’t allowed eat the little golden man atop it. For a brief moment, Jack entertains the idea of going for it anyway. The Sandman is alone after all, and there’s no way anyone can prove that Jack did anything…

North’s words echo through his head _Sandy, Tooth and Bunny are helping too. Is least we can do for someone like you_.

Shaking his head at himself, Jack internally scolds himself for even considering it. The Guardians have taken him in, helped him, considered him their friend. They are not food. Jack tells himself. _They are not food_.

A hand waves in front of his eyes, and Jack flinches back at the sight of Sandy’s faces mere inches from his own, “Hey, Sandy, I uh, didn’t see you there. Um,”

The little Spirit floats back on his dream-sand magic carpet and places one fist on his hip while raising one skeptical eyebrow at Jack.

The winter Spirit chuckles, “Yeah yeah, I know. You’re kind of hard to miss. I guess I just spaced out for a bit,” Jack trails off, unsure what to say next, before blurting out, “So what are you doing?”

A moment later he slams his palm into his forehead, “No wait. Stupid question. You’re the Dreamweaver. You’re weaving dreams. Why did I ask that? Why am I still talking? I shouldn’t still be—”

He’s cut off by a tap on his shoulder and finds Sandy grinning openly at him. Encouraged by the little man’s friendly smile, Jack gives a little grin of his own. The Dreamweaver nods in encouragement before tugging on Jack’s hoodie and heading back over to his sand cloud. Taking the hint, the winter Sprite follows after, settling down  next to the other and placing his staff across his folded legs.

For a while, a peaceful silence drapes around the two Spirits. Jack, unwilling to make a fool of himself again, merely watches the weaving tendrils of sand as Sandy sends out his dreams and moves from town to town, chasing an elusive dawn. Some part of Jack’s mind is telling him that if he’s not going to eat here, he should go somewhere else, but the cool winds blowing over him are so restful and the world seems so peaceful atop Sanderson’s little golden cloud after his episode in the dank alleyway that Jack finds himself loath to leave. Instead, he lies back and counts the stars as the Sandman crafts twirling ballerinas and beautiful playgrounds into children’s dreams.

With Sandy, time seems to cease to exist. The sun never rises, and the moon is always a distant afterthought. Here, above the clouds the sky is clear and the stars shine bright. Jack finds himself content and allows himself to forget about his troubles as he closes his eyes and shuts out the world.

Jack awakes with a start, shooting up so quickly he nearly falls off the cloud until Sandy manages to catch him by the hem of his hoody and pulls him back. Jack gives himself a moment to get reoriented before mumbling, “I fell asleep?”

Bewildered, Jack turns to Sandy for answers. The little Spirit simply nods, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. To the Dreamweaver it might be, but Jack hadn’t let himself sleep in years. The concept of allowing oneself to fall unconscious—to lose control of their body for an extended period of time—has always unsettled Jack.

Brushing off his disquiet, Jack asks, “How long was I sleeping?”

At first, Sandy looks confused by the question, but recognition dawns on his face as he looks toward both horizons. He shrugs, giving Jack a questioning look as an alarm clock and a question mark forms above his head.

Jack takes in the symbols before slowly and confusedly answering, “No, I don’t need an alarm because I’m...already awake?” the raising lilt at the end of his sentence makes it more of a question as he tries to figure out what Sandy is trying to say. 

The little Spirit shakes his head with a silent but good humored sigh.

“No? Okay wait. I got this. Um,” Jack leans back as he works his way through the puzzle. People need alarm clocks because they need to wake up, but Jack doesn’t need to be woken up. So that’s not it, but why do people need to be woken up? Because they need to go somewhere.

Smiling, Jack looks back at Sandy and confirms, “You’re asking if I need to be somewhere?”

Again the little man shrugs and nods, this time with a smile. 

Pleased, Jack grins before contemplating the question and hesitantly answering with, “Yeah...I guess I do,”  Tempting as it is, Jack knows it’s irresponsible to simply stay here with Sandy and let the world pass by. He’s been able to push his hunger aside, but it is growing stronger and stronger and he needs to quell it before it consumes him.

Again, Sandy has to gain Jack’s attention by waving a hand in front of his face, and Jack gives an apologetic smile, but Sandy dismisses it. He forms a question mark above his head.

Jack hesitates a moment before replying, “I just need to find someone,”

Sandy looks curious, but instead of asking who, he nods acceptingly and forms a four leaf clover made of dreamsand in his hands, placing it on Jack’s hoodie like one might a broach. The clover stays after the Sandman floats back down to his cloud looking satisfied.

Jack is confused by the gift—he doesn’t know what a plant has to do with their previous conversation, and he isn’t searching for the Leprechaun—but he accepts it with a nod and a, “Thanks Sandy,”

Looking amused at his confusion, the little Spirit silently smirks and waves him off. 

“Okay okay, I’m leaving,” Jack says in mock exasperation before leaping off the cloud into the night. 

* * *

 

 

Here below the clouds, the night is dark as pitch. A lone Winter Sprite hops from perch to perch as he traverses the graveyard searching for his prey. The absolute darkness is broken as a floating lantern appears before him. Slowly, the apparition holding it reveals itself as well—a being cloaked in worn hooded cape, its blackened, face devoid of anything except for a large mouth filled with jagged teeth. Three more lanterns appear, surrounding the sprite on all sides, and the four phantoms scream with all the anger and sorrow of the dead.

In the center of each of their chests, poorly concealed by their threadbare cloaks, rests a small, dark orb. When he spots it, Jack smiles in anticipation.

 

The ghosts charge—

 

 

And Jack goes after his prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? No, of course I didn't just use a Poe from LoZ:TP as prey for Jack. Pshhhh.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who gave input on what they wanted from this story. It certainly helped cement which ending I decided to use.
> 
> And I apologize for how long it took to get this chapter out. Literally two days after I posted it, I found myself a job after moths of searching and then I managed to injure my hand so typing this up as been a slow process. Further, as with all my stories, I started this with the intent of it being a short five or six chapter story. The plot has since morphed into something a little bit grander. As such, the little buffer I thought I had no longer exists as I am adding chapters in between the chapters I already have written. This chapter, for instance, was not in the original plot, but upon reflection I decided that Jack's relationship with the Guardians pre-shit-hits-the-fan needed to be written.
> 
> In other news, I spent quite a while editing the first chapter, and not nearly so long editing this one. Does it make a significant difference? Should I take a little bit more time on future chapters for better quality, or do you find this one acceptable?
> 
> Feel free to let me know.  
> ~Saka Out


	3. A Case of Indigestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because for all that Pitch was wrong about many, many things, he was right about one: The Guardians would never accept Jack. Not really. Not if they ever learned about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am so, so sorry for taking so long to get a chapter out. Life has been absolutely crazy lately, and I mean like _crazy_ Two jobs, sudden social life, family visiting from across country, grandma in hospital, working overtime because why the fuck not its not like I have anything else to do boss thankyouverymuch, moving out from my apartment, new book series that I am addicted to. Just. Crazy.
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter that took way too long to be released

“—Sector 72—no, uh 73. Yeah, 73, Greenwich, and there’s, um two right lateral inc-incisors and a premolar,” In response to Jack’s poorly recited command, two tooth fairies dart off to collect their designated teeth. Jack watches them go, allowing his mind a small rest, before looking down at the list in his hands and reading off the next destination for Tooth’s fairies.

When Jack had come to visit the other day, the last thing he’d expected to happen was getting wrangled into temporarily taking Tooth’s position while she and a small group of her girls finally set about putting the stolen teeth back in their rightful settings. According to Tooth, she hadn’t meant to let teeth sloppily litter her palace floors for the two months since they got them back from Pitch, but between directing her fairies, and trying to teach a select few how to lead, and taking to the field to make sure everything was fine, she just didn’t have any _time_.

Then Jack had appeared and offered to help, and within hours she had a list of every tooth that would need to be collected for the next week.

Jack is nearing the end of the list now, and he’s pretty sure he has the name of every tooth in the human body memorized, along with most of the world’s countries.

Baby Tooth gives a questioning little trill, startling Jack out of his thoughts and back into the present, where a small group of fairies are gathered around him, looking worried.

Shaking his head, Jack murmurs a quick, “Sorry,” before returning his attention to the list. The words are blurry and Jack has to blink hard a few times before they focus into something legible, “Um, sector 11. Nau...Nauru. One left canine, and uh—one central incisor,” He nods to himself at the sound of little wings buzzing away before going on to read, “Sector 73, Greenwi—no wait,” With a growl, Jack runs his fingers through his hair, tugging sharply on his braid. 

“Sector 107, Kalispell, US. Right premolar—careful girls, Megan’s known for setting traps,” Jack breathes a small sigh of relief at the energetic sound of Tooth’s voice. 

“Hey Tooth,” Jack says, turning to face the other Guardian, “All finished up?”

“Yep! Everything’s finally back in its place,” She replies almost giddily, before sobering up, “Thanks for your help, Jack. I couldn’t have done it without you,”

Jack waves her off, “It wasn’t that big of a deal,”

“Wasn’t that big?” She repeats incredulously, “Jack, you stayed here for a week doing my job for me. It’s a hard job. It’s a big deal,”

“Hard—like you don’t do it every day,” Jack scoffs.

“I do what I’m meant to—what my very being is designed for, and I certainly don’t do it off written paper,” Jack opens his mouth, but Tooth pushes on, “Jack, you helped wonderfully. Please, just accept my gratitude.” Jack pauses, purses his lips, and eventually nods. Pleased, Tooth nods in return before declaring, “Now, your eyes look exhausted. Why don’t you lie down and rest them for a bit?”

Suddenly feeling the exhaustion he’s been pushing back, Jack agrees without a fuss. Tooth directs him to a nearby pile of cushions and pillows that he is sure wasn’t there five minutes ago. He flops down onto them with an appreciative groan, rolling onto his back and wriggling until he feels comfortable. He can hear Tooth chuckling beside him, but he doesn’t care. He hasn’t gotten a decent rest in over a week hasn’t and laid down in something as comfortable as feather pillows for much longer. 

Body lax, one arm thrown over his eyes, Jack lets his thoughts fade as he listens to the melody of the Tooth Palace. The hum of a thousand little wings wash over him, the rolling of coins and the faint clicks of containers as the mini-teeth retrieve their coins and deposit their teeth. Tooth’s quiet voice gently commanding her fairies. The white noise settles over him like a blanket of snowflakes and Jack smiles just slightly. Elsewhere, he will play with boundless energy. Elsewhere, he will be the one apart, to be wary of, but here Jack is still. Still and silent and yet somehow part of the collective, vibrant whole. Everything here, every gear and fairy, and yes even the lone winter sprite helps the palace function. 

Here even Jack can help wonderfully.

“Jack?” Tooth’s voice calls out uncertainly, breaking him from his musings, “Are you asleep?” 

“No,” Jack replies before really registering the question. When he does, he repeats, “No. Did you need something?”

“Not really,” She replies, “I suppose I was just wondering. You haven’t moved for a while is all,”

Confused by her statement, Jack lifts up his arm and is shocked to see that the sun has long since set, a crescent moon shining over head, “Huh,” He replies intelligently, “I guess time really flies…”

“Sweettooth?” Tooth asks.

“I’m fine, really,” For the first time, Jack looks at the fairy and notices the way her shoulders are tense, the way her hands are gripping her elbows. Scrunching his eyebrows, he asks, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” She shoots out quickly, attempting a strained smile, “Yes. Jack, I was wondering—um about your memories,”

Jack tenses at the reminder, covering his eyes again to try and block out the memory. It doesn’t work. 

_He hadn’t even wanted them. Not really. It had been a minor curiosity sparked when Tooth had told him he’d been someone else once. He’d thought helping the Guardians and finding his teeth would be a good way to pass the time, but it’d spiraled out of control. He found himself enjoying spending time with them, playing their games, helping with Easter, and he realized there was more to each of them than just being forbidden fruits. Then Pitch had stepped in, taking something Jack had never truly wanted and using it to lure Jack into his trap._

_And Jack—stupid, idiotic, overconfident Jack Frost—had fallen for it._

_Because for all that Pitch was wrong about many, many things, he was right about one: The Guardians would never accept Jack. Not really. Not if they ever learned about him._

_So, Jack had caught Pitch alone, and instead of using the opportunity to end the older Spirit’s stupid games, he’d gotten distracted with his own insecurities. He’d let Easter crumble._

_And the look on the Guardians’ faces when they saw him with his teeth…_

“I’m sorry to ask but,” Tooth states, shaking him away from his thoughts, “Do you still have them, Jack? Your memories? Because they’re not in the Palace,”

Jack glances at Tooth from under his arm before gritting out, “No,”

“No?” She gasps out, “Why?”

She’d asked something similar then. _Why? Why Jack? Was it worth it? Are you happy now? We trusted you. We’d trusted you._  

_Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe that was what her expression had said as she stared in horror. He had flown away then, unable to bare the look in their eyes, flown as far as he could, winding up in the barren, icy wastes of Antarctica, staff in one hand memories in the other. He’d ran to the edge of a glacier, lifting the small golden box over his head. He’d been so angry. So hurt. So alone. And all because of them. Because of a few little teeth. They’d ruined everything so he—_

“Threw them off a glacier. Haven’t seen them since,”

“Jack!” Tooth exclaims, “Do you know how dangerous that is? What if someone else finds them? The damage someone could do to you if they ever managed to crack open that box,” The hum of Tooth’s wings grow louder as they beat faster in her agitation, “there is a reason we keep all the teeth here, Jack,”

“Relax no one will find them,” Jack snorts, “They’re kinda in the middle of nowhere,”

“They’re bound to be found sometime, Jack. Problems like this don’t just go away because you want them to. I can’t believe anyone would just—just throw them away like that!”

Scowling, Jack scoops up his staff and leaps up to his feet, “Look, I’m sorry okay! I didn’t know and after,” He has to pause to take to take a steadying breath; it doesn’t do much good, “after Easter I was just—angry and confused and…” Scared. For the first time in a long time.

Jack growls, suddenly itching to be out of the Tooth Palace. It’s too bright here. Too hectic. Too many eyes are on him, and it unsettles him. His head is filled with static noise, and its making it hard to think—making it hard to justify why he shouldn’t just attack and escape. 

“Jack? Sweettooth? I’m sorry I shouldn’t have gotten angry. It’s not your fault,” Tooth says, but Jack has a hard time filtering her words through his brain between noticing the beating of her wings and that rosemary smell pervading the air, “You know how I get about teeth. Don’t worry, We’ll find them and everything will be fine. Jack? Are you ok?”

Distantly, he’s aware that she’s talking to him because he can see her lips moving. Absently, he notices he worried tone and gaze, but the static has grown louder, and he can’t focus over the movement of a thousand little shadows, darting about, controlled by a thousand little fairies. And the smell—the smell it’s too thick there’s too much it’s too much he needs to lea—

Something’s sneaking up on him.

Snarling, Jack whips around and snaps at the threat, only to falter when he sees a scared Baby Tooth a hairsbreadth away from his bared teeth. 

She gives a concerned chirp, patting Jack’s nose.

Stepping back, Jack mumbles, “I’m sor—I’m sorry. I’ll go. I have to go. Sorry. A—about the teeth. Sorry, sorry—”

The wind bears him away at his silent plea, and he can hear the hum of Tooth’s wings as she tries to follow him, but the sound grows faint and then silent altogether as he breaks through the clouds up to where his breaths come in shallow gasps. The moon is still overhead, casting a dim light. 

Gripping his head, Jack screams, “Shut up!” 

And the static in his mind stops.

And everything

Stops.

* * *

Bunny supposes he could chalk it up to luck, not that he normally believes in anything so fickle. Yet, when a certain winter sprite falls, unconscious, out of the sky right into his arms while he’s out on one of his scouting trips, Bunny can’t think of anything else it might be.

The boy seems fine, no visible wounds and no obvious sickness. Beyond the boy’s normal snow and pine scent is one of Indian incense, which leads Bunny to believe Jack had been with Tooth recently. Jack’s hair is, for once, undone and slightly wavy, as if it’d been in a braid for quite some time. His clothes are just as tattered as ever. His breathing is steady, if slow.

Bunny’s quick check-up complete, he gives the boy a quick flick to the forehead, to try and wake him, but it doesn’t work. Jack doesn’t even flinch. 

“Oy, Frostbite,” Bunny nearly shouts, and again the boy doesn’t react.

Despite himself, Bunny feels a small inkling of concern. Despite the boy’s unsettling nature, and bizarre appearance, he’s been a good Guardian and a good friend to the kids. Bunny doesn’t really want to admit it, but maybe Frostbite has grown on him. Just a little. 

“Oy, c’mon, mate. Don’t go doin’ this ta us. Wake up,” Bunny cajoles, to no avail.

Perhaps he should go to North? Let his yeti check up on Jack while he and the other Guardians see if there’s some kind of threat?

It’s as Bunny is about to make a tunnel up to the North Pole when he hears a low rumble. Confused, he looks around before looking down at the boy, “Frostbite?” As if in response, another little rumble comes, and this time Bunny recognizes it for what it is.

“Yer hungry?” Bunny asks the unconscious boy incredulously, “don’ tell me ya fainted outa ‘unger,” Again his response is a stomach growl. With a sigh, Bunny taps open a tunnel to his own Burrow, “Well, lets get ya fed then,”

Bunny sets the food—a spinach and kale salad with sliced apples, dried cranberries, and lemon grilled chicken thrown in—on his old, rickety kitchen table. It is small, nearly completely covered by the one salad bowl and the two matching dinner sets. He looks over his antiquated kitchen once more just to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything before heading over to his improvised bed he’d made for the boy. Really, it’s just a collection of old blankets and pillows he’s had stored away for years, but Jack seems comfortable enough in them.

Or he had seemed comfortable enough.

Much to Bunny’s shock, when he arrives at the nest of pillows Jack is no longer there.

“Frostbite?” He calls out, but no one responds. Turning slowly, Bunny surveys his living room, half expecting Jack to leap out of some unlikely hiding spot, and isn’t exactly surprised when it doesn’t happen. The room is well lit by the plethora of windows and sparsely furnished besides, containing only an old, comfortable chair pushed to the side to make room for the impromptu bed, an easel surrounded by paints and canvases, and a couple small bookshelves half filled with sketchbooks and flora references. A large arch opening leads back into his kitchen, and his front door is constructed with solid oak. 

Bunny hears a crash from below and turns with no small amount of dread to face the decorated hole in the most shadowed corner of the room. the opening is egg-shaped and large enough for Bunny to comfortably fit through. It is framed with a stone mosaic of Bunny’s own design and usually lidded with a thick, dark stained glass door depicting a garden of vines. Currently, the decorative piece of glass has been tossed carelessly to the side—thankfully not broken—by who could only be Bunny’s sole guest.

Bunny hears something else break again, fainter, and with a desperate growl leaps into the hole. 

From above ground, the Easter Bunny’s home may look like little more than a sturdy, two-room cottage, but under the earth it becomes so much more. The room Bunny lands in upon alighting on the floor is his own personal nest, tucked away from the light and noises that the surface bring. The room itself is larger that the entire floor above it, eclipsed almost entirely by Bunny’s nest, and lined with shelves containing small baubles—gifts from the other Guardians throughout the years—the newest among them, suspended in the air by its own magic, a glowing snowflake.

_Aster had been strolling out among the greens in Iceland when Jack had found him. He’d only a moment to wonder how the boy always managed to sneak up on him before a snowflake was dropped in front of his face. His batting it away was as much reflex as it was a conscious desire not to be soaked in frozen water, but Jack, careless happy-go-lucky Jack had panicked and flailed and leapt after the stray snowflake like it was the most precious thing in the world, managing to catch it only moments before it shattered upon the ground._

_Again Bunny only had a moment to wonder about the boy before Jack had gotten back up in his space, jokingly scolding him for breaking his present before ever actually looking at it, and at Bunny’s confused face the sprite had revealed the snowflake—delicately this time. As his palm unfurled, the snowflake slowly, almost hesitantly lifted from his hand, floating a few inched above it and slowly spinning._

_It’d been the size of the boy’s palm, and, Bunny’s noticed, was carved on both sides. One side containing a white silhouette of an egg, and the other containing the painstakingly carved words: Happy Easter._

One more crash leads Bunny to one of eight tunnels branching from his Nest and he quickly dives down after the boy, hoping to get to him before any serious damage is done. The tunnel ends quickly, leading Bunny to a library kept dark and dry for the sake of the many ancient tomes housed there. It is here he finds the results of the first crash and is relieved to find that only a few of the more sturdier tomes have been knocked off one of the shelves. 

Relieved, that is, until Bunny steps in a dark, viscous liquid just has he steps past the pile of books. Down here, it is too dark for even Bunny to see clearly, but it looks like blood, and is warm like blood. A quick whiff reveals it to be something different, though he knows not what. Deciding to worry about the whys and whats later, Bunny takes off after the boy, faster this time.  

_It was beautiful, and Bunny had said as such, amusedly watching as the words contorted Jack’s face into a series a emotions too quick to be deciphered. Before long though, the boy had slipped back into his usual excited, mischievous persona and claimed that it could do so much more._

_Grabbing the air on each side of the rotating snowflake as if he were holding onto strings, Jack scrunched his face in concentration and pulled his hands apart. Bunny had watched in fascination as the snowflake started spinning faster and faster until the two carving appeared to overlap, creating a beautiful easter egg with the Easter slogan on it._

_As soon as the sprite’d released the imaginary strings, the snowflake snapped to stillness before resuming its slow rotations. Bunny laughed in amazement, and the boy, apparently satisfied by the reaction, joined in._

As Bunny goes deeper and further, the sulfuric smell of the mysterious substance grows stronger, and Jack’s trail is almost overcome by it, but Bunny manages to find him nonetheless. 

He is not encouraged by what he finds.

By now Bunny’s eyes have adjusted as best they can to the near absolute darkness and he can faintly see Jack hidden in a forgotten corner created by two askance bookshelves in the Archive. Jack is on his knees, bent double as he gags on the mysterious liquid now littering the floor of Bunny’s Archive. 

_And when the Jack had laughed, Bunny finally saw the person North and Tooth and Sandy spoke of. Not the hunter with sharp tooth and claw, not the mischievous trickster who froze water pipes and Bunny’s tail, but the boy who laughed to make others smile. The child who would, at no benefit to himself, risk everything to save Easter for Bunny’s sake._

_And in that one moment, Bunny loved Jack as he loved Jamie and Sophie and every other innocent child he swore his life to protect._

“Oy, Frostbite,” Bunny calls out gently, catching the boy’s attention, “what’s wrong?”

The sprite’s head snaps up, glaring and hissing. Ignoring his sickness, the boy crawls backward, lips drawn back, hands curled into claws.

Taking a deep breath, Bunny takes an experimental step forward. As expected, Jack swipes at him, adding a growl for good measure.

“Ya need ta calm down mate, no one’s gonna hurt ya,” Bunny says as calmly as possible. 

Jack doesn’t seem to hear him and refuses to let him closer. While trying to figure out his next move, Bunny can’t help but notice how Jack’s normally luminescent white teeth are painted black by the dark, blood-like goo, the liquid dripping off his fangs to lips stretched thin. 

Bunny shivers and Jack seems to latch onto that, momentarily freezing all movement to stare piercingly at him. Bunny can’t stop another shiver as those almost glowing eyes focus on him. Jack cocks his head slightly.

Then he leaps and Bunny is on the ground, winded from the impact and unable to get up due to the boy’s preternatural strength as Jack crouches on his chest, gazing into his eyes.

Slowly, the sprite’s face inches closer until Bunny’s nose wrinkles from the brimstone and onyx scent emanating from the boy’s mouth. Sneering, Jack hisses, “What’s wrong? You _scared_ , Bunny?” 

And in that moment, Bunny sees nothing of the boy who smiles at another’s delight. He sees a monster, a predator. Something with hooked fang and claw. Something that might kill as a mercy. And Bunny is terrified.

Yet now Jack looks at him like he is just as scared, clawed toes catching on his fur as the boy scrambles off him and runs into the darkness. Bunny can he the boy stumble, hear the crashing of one of the shelves, the splintering sound of glass as something precious shatters. He does nothing to try and stop it though. He doesn’t think he could if he tried. 

Bunny stares at the shadowed ceiling as he tries to get his breathing and heartbeat under control. He finally recognizes the smell of the goo. It has been so long since he’s smelled it from so close, but it still shocks him that it’s taken so long to remember it. Putrid brimstone and hard onyx: the same smell that pervaded his home planet the day the fearlings invaded. The same smell Pitch has, but more raw and tainted by the crystal sharp smell of ice.

As he manages to pull himself together, Bunny wonders if Pitch has somehow managed to turn Jack into a fearling—but he’s seen people turned into fearlings, the after-effect and the process, and that is nothing like anything he’s seen before. It must be something different. Something that has to do with why Pitch disappeared Easter morning two months ago. 

Pursing his lips and clenching his paws, Bunny pulls himself up and silently vows to figure out what’s going on. He won’t let the others know, not yet. If Pitch is planning something, Bunny doesn’t want his enemy to know he has caught on already. In the meantime, he’ll investigate Jack, figure out what’s wrong with the boy, and how long this has been going on.

_And in that moment, Jack had looked so innocent. It was no wonder, really, why the others thought it was so easy to love him._

Pitch has already stolen one family from the Pooka, Bunny will not let the Nightmare King steal another.

_Bunny would protect Jack_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clap for a chapter that has been edited only in the barest sense of the word! I'll go back and actually proofread/edit this chapter next chance I get (which probably won't be until monday, if I'm being honest as it is I was supposed to go to bed two hours ago) but I figured I needed to get something up in the meantime. So I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> In other news, this chapter didn't go how I planned it to at all. In fact, it veered so far off course that I actually have to alter the plot of the story because of it. Oh well, such is life. Also, Jack. Jack, you can't just eat Nightmare Kings and expect to get away without repercussions. It just doesn't happen sorry. And Bunny. Bunny's relationship with Jack is quite complicated after this chapter. 
> 
> Anyway, if you see anything that seems wrong (from small typos to OOCness to obvious plot-holes) please feel free to mention it. You won't hurt my feelings, I swear.
> 
> See you next chapter!  
> ~Saka Out


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